


what was said in the silence

by ElectraRhodes



Series: Tristahad Stories [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hannibal Extended Universe, Happy Birthday, M/M, Tristahad - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectraRhodes/pseuds/ElectraRhodes
Summary: It’s Galahad’s birthday, but will Tristan say anything?





	what was said in the silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melmac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melmac/gifts).



> For my lovely friend Mel! Happy birthday treasure!

Galahad stretches out on the sheepskins, arches his back a little and yawns mightily.

“So.” He says. Perhaps a faint wheedling note in his voice. “So. Anything you’d like especially to say today?”

His lover turns from his pack and raises an eyebrow at him. Tristan’s mouth is occupied by an apple and he shrugs a little as if to imply there is nothing in particular that he would like to address.

Galahad sighs. He should have known.

.................................

At practice Tristan extends a hand to where Galahad is lain sprawled on the ground. He takes it readily and lets himself be hauled upright.

Despite the many eyes and smirking glances Tristan checks his wrist where he’d landed awkwardly. Galahad sighs.

“It’s fine. See. I can still move it in all ways.”

Tristan gives it a light squeeze and picks up the wooden practice sword Galahad dropped and hands it to him again. Galahad appreciates the confidence shown in his own assessment of his wellbeing. It’d just be better if.. well, never mind. Tristan is, after all, a man of few words.

....................................

When the rain comes on the men stand variously huddled under trees and in the lee of a low wall, displacing the straggling sheep who’d claimed a dry spot out of the drizzle washed wind. Galahad shivers, and debates the wisdom of saving some coin to buy leggings before the winter truly sets in. Why is it only he who stands around with legs bared to all the elements?

Tristan shakes his head a little and pulls some sacking from beneath his own tunic. He wraps it securely round Galahad’s shoulders and pins it with a bone needle, the head carved into an apple. Galahad leans against him as they sit shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, with their backs against the rough stonework. 

They wait out the shower together taking comfort in their shared warmth. Under the cover of the homespun hessian Tristan takes his hand and holds it between them. Galahad sighs at the wordless comfort of the caress.

.....................................

Iseult launches from the back of Tristan’s wrist and wings her way towards the distant copse of gnarling trees. Only when she has gone almost from sight does Galahad step closer to where Tristan stands.

“Beautiful. The way her feathers catch the sunlight. With the water on them? Like dancing stars.”

Tristan smiles at him and undoes the glove from his arm. He holds out his hand to Galahad. Galahad startles just a little.

“Oh. Do you think so? She’s not best pleased with me.”

When the glove is tied to his arm Tristan hands him the hawk’s hood, ready for when she returns. He steps back then and links his own hands behind his back. They have tried this a few times now. But Iseult is imprinted on him so it may or may not work.

The gods smile on them, and the look of wonder and terror and joy on Galahad’s face when Iseult grips his gloved arm with her talons, accepts first some rabbit and then the hood from his hand, is like the sun and the moon together.

Tristan nods his pleasure at the shared moment, smiling at Galahad’s speechless delight.

.......................................

In the evening Galahad mooches into the rough tent tavern. He drops into a seat beside Gawain and slumps a little at the shoulder. The news from the south is dismal and he saw the tense line of Tristan’s shoulders. He will probably be sent to scout at the next sunrise. 

At the table he is surprised when a leather tankard of ale is brought to him before he makes a sign. It’s accompanied by a plate of stew. Mutton he thinks. With a good gravy with juniper berries and maybe a little wine to it. There is fried onion and apple and roasted burdock root besides. He tucks in and feels himself warm and fill. A pleased smile suffuses his whole being.

Gawain leans in beside him and indicates the tankard.

“Is that new? I did not know you had one made for you.”

Galahad turns it and sees his initials carved and burned into the leather in a pleasing shape. One of the peddlers who had come through recently had such wares, and though he had admired them he had not the savings or the temperament to commission one. But he knows someone who might use words whilst saying nothing.

.......................................

The tent is lit only by three tallow candles and a small lamp. The shadows play on the walls, dancing, merry.

With a linen scrap Tristan washes Galahad’s back in water that he has warmed. Galahad sighs into the touch when he moves to wash his front and then his arms.

When Tristan lays him out on the sheep and deerskins he opens his mouth to receive the kisses his lover pours into him. Tristan takes his time with some fragranced oil. The small clay bottle smelled like summer when he opened it and poured it out onto his fingers.

“Roses? From that lordling’s place?” He takes a deep scent of Tristan’s hand. “Lovely.”

Tristan rests a hand over his mouth as if to remind him to be quiet as he uses the fragranced soft slipperyness to open him up. He pushes into the touch, assured and deft, and focussed on bringing him as much pleasure as might be wrung between them.

When Tristan pushes into him he clings to him like ivy to a tree. They find a mutual completion together. Galahad gasping and mouthing words of love and adoration against Tristan’s shoulder. Tristan shuddering and stuttering through an urgent coupling of their every self.

After, when Tristan has cleaned them both, though his seed still trickles from Galahad, filled yet again by love, Galahad flops an arm over his chest and a leg over his thigh.

He yawns.

“It was not so bad a day all told. Thank you.”

Tristan strokes a hand through his hair and then smooths it a little. He kisses his brow and Galahad settles closer against his side. Tristan kisses his mouth gently and whispers roughly against his lips.

“Happy Birthday.”

In the gathering dark Galahad smiles.

.......................................


End file.
